


A Measure of Relief

by nightflyer42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8499823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightflyer42/pseuds/nightflyer42
Summary: When hard times fall upon us, we all deserve a measure of relief from our pain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying to pick up my writing little by little, because I used to love it and I miss it... I am starting with collecting my old shit and posting it here on AO3. This is very, very old, written literally 5 years ago, not that it matters. After all, blowjobs are timeless.

 

The air in the room is hot, almost solid with the humidity and heat of summer nighttime. The old air conditioning whirrs and chirps, making more noise than doing any real work. Dean can feel droplets of sweat rolling slowly down his back, sometimes dripping down on the stale carpet, sometimes rolling into the crack of his ass and tickling. It doesn’t matter; it’s not enough to break his focus. All he cares about is the smooth glide of Cas against his lips, the salty bursts of precome sliding down his tongue, the minute vibrations he feels as his hands press Cas’ hips against the wall, the only tell of the angel’s effort to keep it soft and gentle. In every quiver, he can feel Cas’ desire to ram his cock down his throat, and Dean secretly revels in it. He feels almighty and empowered, because with his human mouth, with his tongue and teeth and hands he can reduce an Angel of the Lord to a trembling, whimpering mess. He doesn’t care about blasphemy and getting struck with divine wrath. God is gone and doesn’t care, so Dean can deprave his own personal angel as much as he pleases, and _fuck_ , does he please. Every moan, every broken utter of his name that tears off from Cas’ lips fuels the fire burning low in Dean’s belly. He is hot, incandescent with love and adoration and the need to show Cas every single small thing that can bring him pleasure and wring all those obscene and beautiful sounds from his mouth.

Dean swivels his tongue in a figure eight and scrapes his teeth lightly, _oh_ so lightly on the sensitive cluster of nerves below the head; Cas rewards him with a choked off cry and his hands settle on Dean’s head, slow, gentle, petting, not tugging, and for a moment Dean needs it to be rough, and violent, Cas’ fingers twisting his hair, forcing him to stay while that thick red cock shoves deep and hard with no mercy. Cas, however, has other ideas. His hands just rake through Dean’s hair, never tugging hard enough to hurt, just tracing the shape of his skull, taking detours to dip in the hollow of his neck and to hook behind his ears. As Dean takes Cas deeper, trying not to gag and to keep his tongue moving, Cas’ hands migrate to his face, slowly stroking his brow as if he was a feverish child. As Dean works his head back and forth, corkscrewing slightly and cataloguing every moan and twitch, those hands continue their gentle journey, as if unaffected by the frenzy of lust that consumes their owner. Even as Cas throws his head back and finally allows himself to thrust shallowly, his fingers wrap around Dean’s jaw from both sides and his thumbs lightly massage his jaw hinge, feeling the subtle movement and taking away some of the tension from the repetitive movements. One of those thumbs slides lower to his cheek and Dean turns his head, allowing Cas to feel his cock moving in Dean’s mouth; a high-pitched keen is all the warning Dean gets before Cas loses it completely and starts thrusting for real, sliding down Dean’s throat. His hand wraps lightly against Dean’s windpipe and feels the muscle contracting around his cock and that’s it, Cas is slamming his head back into the wall with a force that would concuss a human being and emptying his load down Dean’s gullet, moaning and uttering words no angel should ever have a reason to say. Dean swallows around the twitching cock lodged in his throat and feels Castiel’s hands moving to trace his lips where they are still stretched, a bit of come dribbling from the corner. He can feel the scent of Cas’ come seeping into his skin and he has some perverse liking for the feeling that he will be able to taste and smell him hours after he’s gone, another reminder besides the ache in his neck and the rasp in his voice.

Finally, Cas pulls his softening cock out of Dean’s mouth and slides down gracefully to his own knees to kiss his taste from Dean’s lips. Tongues tangle in a filthy dance that drips with saliva, semen, love and desperation. Dean’s own cock is throbbing almost painfully in his jeans, but he resists the urge to touch himself. He knows Cas will take care of him; they take care of each other in whatever fucked-up way the world allows them, and it has to be enough. It is more than either of them has ever had, and if God has any opposition to a fallen human and a fallen angel taking pleasure in each other’s flesh, he can go fuck himself. They might go down burning, but they will go together.

 

Written for [this](http://deancaskink.livejournal.com/2030.html?thread=399086#t399086) prompt  at [](http://deancaskink.livejournal.com/profile)[**deancaskink**](http://deancaskink.livejournal.com/)


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